


The Cost of Survival

by AnikaandAj



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Clary is a badass, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, The banter is strong, The one zombie au not based off of The Walking Dead, Trying to see if this website is worth switching over to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-01 02:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17235221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnikaandAj/pseuds/AnikaandAj
Summary: "I figured I either have two options. Shoot you before you have the chance to run or let you go and wake up to find all of my stuff gone. So I chose the third option." "And that would be?" "Doing a favor to the human race by not letting a pretty girl starve to death, of course." Jace and Clary are two survivors in the zombie apocalypse. If only zombies were their biggest problem.





	1. Brave New World

**Author's Note:**

> So, it seems everywhere I look, people have been moving from fanfiction to Ao3. (Why is it even called Ao3? I dunno?) While I've been fairly successful on posting through fanfiction, I'm curious whether I should consider making the move and so I'm seeing how my most recent story does on here. This should be exciting!

Where were you the day everything went to hell?

It used to be a common question to hear. Every survivor was interested in hearing stories of the past. Thinking of the past brought peace.

Clary hadn't heard the question in a long time; so long that she almost missed the repetition of her answer. Maybe it was because it had been so long since she had seen a regular person. A living one, that is.

Speaking of that…

Clary was sprawled upon the forest earth as a zombie hovered over her, preparing for the kill. She hadn't come close to death in a while. She had missed it. She kicked her feet out with a snarl, landing squarely on the zombie's chest and keeping it at bay. It flailed its arms, mindlessly attempting to claw at her and tear into her ripe flesh. The longer she resisted, the harder the zombie fought for its meal. It was struggling so hard that, for a moment, Clary worried her foot would plunge into its decaying chest.

Her hands moved across the deadening grass and twigs in a flurry, as if she were making snow angels and not just scrambling to stay alive. She needed her weapon and she needed it fast.

_Come on_ , she mentally screamed, her mind beginning to verge on what could only be described as panic. His hands were getting awfully close.

Using the sensitive skin of her palm, the physically young girl felt the ground, desperate to find her lucky stake.

Leaves? _No._ Twigs? _No._ Leftover arm? _Oops, definitely not._ More leaves, more dirt, _bingo_.

At the last possible second, Clary felt her palm enclose around the cylindrical base of the smooth wood, just as the zombie broke free of its restraint. It tumbled after her, falling onto the girl's writhing form and locking its large dead eyes on the tender flesh of her neck before… _crunch_.

An explosion of blood oozed all over Clary, just after she had managed to impale the starving corpse milliseconds away from her death.

Today she had survived. She wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

In a simpler time, just before the apocalypse hit, Clary had been the weird girl at her college. She was only in her freshman year, but she had been instantly cast away from her peers and forced into isolation. She was fine with that. She preferred to be alone.

That is until there was nobody around to flaunt off her loneliness to. Everybody that had turned Clary away and labeled her as a freak were dead. She supposed that she should at least be a little sad, but the irony was too overwhelming for her to think much about those who now either walked the earth as soulless monsters or lay scattered in pieces as the remnants of a meal. Clary had survived. That was more than what could be said for most people.

In the beginning, survival was all that mattered. Four hundred days later after the living population had been reduced to an endangered species, she began to wonder what the point of surviving was if nobody cared. Sure, she was a big winner for being strong and clever enough to outwit the brainless corpses. But who cared? The zombies sure didn't. She was only one small meal and, to be honest, there wasn't much meat on her at that point to devour.

Her entire life, Clary had proven herself. She had proven that she could beat those who doubted her. Now unless she wanted to try striking up a conversation with one of the zombies loitering around, there weren't many left to gloat to.

Clary wrinkled her nose as she pushed the corpse off of her, doing all she could not to whimper at all of the leftover blood that had gushed onto her and continued to leak down her arms.

While she had never been a girly girl, the gory display made her want to hurl.

As soon as she made her way over to a nearby bush, that was exactly what she did.

Upon finishing emptying her stomach of the scarce food she had scavenged, Clary wanted—no, needed—food. Pronto. In this world, she couldn't afford to pass out from hunger or dehydration. Judging by the dampness of the earth as Clary continued to move west, a source of water couldn't be too far off. She would get water and wash off the thick and sticky crimson from her pores to avoid getting infected herself. Then, Clary decided, she could search for food.

Or die in the process.

* * *

 It had been about two days, give or take, and Clary still hadn't found any food. She stumbled precariously through the dense forest, resembling a zombie herself as her stomach begged for food. Along with her growing hunger, Clary could feel despair setting in. By the second day, she truly believed she would die. Not by a fight to the death, not in a blaze of glory, but because she couldn't find any freaking berries to eat.

That is until, by some unforeseen luck, she stumbled upon a camp. Warily, she crouched down behind a bush large enough that her red curls wouldn't give herself away. She, Clarissa Fray, had stumbled upon a human. Like, the living and breathing kind. Her first reaction was to reveal herself and beg for a few sweet morsels of food, maybe striking up a conversation if she was lucky.

What she ended up doing instead was cowering behind a three-foot-tall shrub, scanning the campsite for movement. She would wait until the perfect moment to raid the camp and steal all she could carry.

Once upon a time, Clary never would have resorted to something as low and underhanded as stealing. Then the apocalypse came and the world went to shit.

Clary narrowed her eyes, watching the roaring campfire crackle, twisting and dancing towards the sky in streamers of orange and red. There were a few logs conveniently located around the fire and a single beige tent, large enough for two or three set up a few feet away just far enough to avoid catching fire. Briefly, she noticed there were many patches on the tent that had to be repaired crudely with duct tape, but it was otherwise in perfect condition. There was one set of footprints at the campsite, but they seemed to go back and forth. _Great_ , Clary rolled her eyes. The human she had stumbled upon was a pacer. As if the apocalypse couldn’t get any worse.

"Well it's not every day you see a pretty girl in a bush,” remarked a deep voice behind her. _Oh shit_ , Clary winced. 

She spun around, her hair whipping behind her, as she reached for her stake. Where she would usually find it attached to her belt, her hand grasped an empty pocket of air. Where the hell—

"Looking for this?" The same voice mocked her cockily. Growling, she looked up at the man she had been planning on stealing from.

He wasn't nearly as lean as she had figured a survivor would be, especially on his own. He was well muscled with a golden tan, which he mostly covered up with a faded black t-shirt, surprisingly not at all stained with blood. He had rich gold curls that looked to be spun by Rumplestiltskin himself and eyes that gleamed a deep amber. _I’m sensing a_ pattern, Clary noted mentally, finding humor in the golden man standing in front of her. He was attractive, Clary had to give him that. But even after so long of being alone, that didn't matter. Why? Because he had _her_ stake.

"Give me back Mr. Pointy!" She snarled, lunging for the sharpened wood. He dodged her attack, an amused smirk resting on his lips. He evaded her clumsy footwork with a grace that made her want to punch him even harder.

"Mr. Pointy? Seriously?" He sneered, stepping backward as she clawed at the hand that carelessly held her weapon.

"Listen twinkletoes, it's my weapon and I want it back." She jumped at him once more. And missed.

"A weapon? That's just sad. It's a stick." He spun the stick like a baton, clearly not seeing the danger in the slab of wood. Clary grit her teeth.

"No, it's a weapon. It's saved my life against the zombies more times than I can count. Now hand it over, or else." She held out her hand, glaring sharply at the significantly taller man. He glanced at her dirt-stained palm thoughtfully before laughing in her face. How someone that had lasted so long in the apocalypse could laugh with a total stranger was beyond her.

"I thought stakes were for vampires."

"It's sharp and pointy. It works for zombies too."

Not willing to waste her energy on chasing him, Clary resorted to crossing her arms like a child and staring him down. She was beginning to miss being alone. Why couldn't this guy have just let her raid his camp in peace? How come he just _had_ to find her and annoy her to death? Selfish, that's what he was.

"Okay then, slayer. How would you like some dinner? I just went hunting and got some rabbit,” he offered, tossing her stake to the ground. It landed inches from her toes, the sharp end piercing the soil. Clary looked down at her stake, then back to the stranger.

"You do know I was just about to steal your supplies, right?" She asked dumbly.

"Yup," he replied, popping the _p_. "I figured I either have two options. Shoot you before you have the chance to run or let you go and wake up to find all of my stuff gone. So I chose the third option."

Her eyebrows rose, her curiosity getting the better of her. "And that would be?"

"Doing a favor to the human race by not letting a pretty girl starve to death, of course."

* * *

 

"Do you always eat like this or have you just been starving longer than I thought?" The man, who she had discovered was two years older than herself, remarked. She paused from her gorging as messily as the zombies to bat her eyes innocently.

"Excuse me for enjoying my first time eating anything but berries since the outbreak,” she retorted, wiping her messy palms on her jeans. His expression changed to one of horror.

"How have you been eating just berries?" He spluttered. Clary was sure if he had been drinking water he would have spat it out.

"Simple. I can hunt, but I can't cook worth a damn. Back in college, I had to ask for help just to make Ramen," She shrugged, feeling slightly more relaxed with the crackling flames basking her in a cocoon of warmth that shielded her from the evening chill.

"College? Is that where you were when all of this went down?" A genuine smile ghosted his lips at her nostalgic expression. It had been too long since she'd been asked that question.

"Yeah," She answered, her eyes traveling to meet her shoes as memories bubbled to the surface that had long since been buried. "I was in my boyfriend’s apartment the night it happened. My boyfriend, Simon, had just proposed the night before and I turned him down. When I heard a knock at the door, I assumed it was him. It was, but it wasn't. He was a zombie, the first I ever encountered. When he attacked me, I freaked and thought he was just angry about the rejection. I somehow managed to escape and I ran. It wasn't until I saw more zombies that I figured out what was going on."

"You didn't kill him?" He asked with his gaze locked solely on her.

"I did, but not then. Two days later I had to kill him after he had made a meal of my brother, Jonathan.” Clary clutched her knees closer to her chest, finding it suddenly much harder to breathe.

The stranger's eyes darkened, empathetic for her loss and the losses he had undoubtedly had as well. He was smart enough not to say sorry. He knew as well as she did that an apology from a stranger was the day they admitted things were only going to get worse.

"My name's Jace,” he said simply, extending his arm for her to shake. She looked at it suspiciously.

"I want to trust you. I've found that when a person puts a face to a name, it becomes much harder to kill them,” he elaborated, his arm still outstretched.

She smirked, his logic resonating with her, even with her paranoia induced sense of unease. Could she really trust him?

“Jace? How'd you get stuck with that one?" She snickered. He only rolled his eyes.

“At least I _have_ a name."

"I have a name!" She defended. "If you must know, it’s Clary. Clarissa Fray.”

"Well, _Clarissa Fray_ , it's nice to meet you. I'm grateful you didn't rob me."

Amused, she shook his hand.

"It's a pleasure, Jace. It's a shame we won't be seeing each other much longer, it's been nice talking to someone,” she sighed, folding her hands once more. Jace looked surprised.

"Oh, and what's keeping you from staying? We make a hell of a team," he leaned closer, the fire's illumination making his amber eyes glow.

"I'm more of a loner. It got tiring having to watch people getting picked off one by one."

"But what if we didn't die? Two is stronger than one." His eyes roamed across her form for a signal of her giving in. He wanted her to stay, _that_ Clary could tell.

“Jace, you're a nice guy, but I'm surprised you've survived this long. There are no _but’s_ when the world is hell on earth. Everything ends in death. Every choice and decision has the possibility of death,” she chastised, not caring how bitter she sounded.

"It was like that before the apocalypse. Life has always been like that. There's always been the chance of dying, but nobody seems to pay much attention until a corpse tries to eat them."

"Well frankly, the mortality rate has risen quite a bit since corpses started eating people,” she stated matter of factly. "We're all going to die, it doesn't matter whether we're together or alone."

Clary was stubborn. She refused to let Jace win an argument against her. She was afraid of what would happen if he did.

"Better than dying alone.” He shot back, challenging her just as he had since the moment they met. This time, Clary had no witty comeback. Her vault of endless sarcasm had been drained, now replaced with the thought of Jace’s offer. She could stay. Maybe she could even learn what it felt like to be alive again.

But could she trust him?

After ten minutes of silence, the man stood up and made his way toward the oversized tent.

"I'm going to get some sleep. You should too. I don't suppose you want to join me?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. Her scoff served as her answer. He shrugged regardless, displaying no regrets.

"Good night."

"Sleep well,” She returned.

"We'll probably be dead by morning,” they finished in unison. The chant had become a universal language to all the survivors.

He nodded, pleased, before tossing her a sleeping bag.

"How do you know I won't leave?" After a lifetime of being an outcast, ostracized by living and dead, his openness was a foreign concept.

"You won't. You may have survived this world by closing yourself off, but I've found that the only way to survive is to never stop believing in a person's humanity. The day I refuse to trust will be the day they win." He spoke with such conviction that Clary almost felt ashamed of herself for doubting him. Almost.

"And what if I left?" She challenged.

"Oh, I'd find you,” he spoke with a confidence Clary had only been able to fake. With that answer, Jace retreated inside of his tent, leaving Clary alone with her thoughts and the lullaby of the crackling fire.

Maybe she could find a home here. Maybe she could be happy to be alive once again. Maybe, just maybe, she could stop running.

* * *

 

When Jace rose the next morning, he wasn't fooled by the ethereal glow of sunrise. He knew something was wrong the moment he woke up. But what?

His questions were answered the moment he opened his tent. The only sign Clary had been there at all was the stake, Mr. Pointy, impaled into the earth inches away from his toes. The lingering whisper of her betrayal rang through the air as he looked around at where his supplies had been ransacked through and stolen.

He could have been angry, abusing himself for trusting the thief. He could have unleashed his fury onto the barren world and destroyed whatever he could spare. He could have sunken to the ground, finally losing his hope in humanity.

Jace merely smiled, leaning down to pick up her weapon of choice.

He wasn't worried; he knew this wasn't the end of their journey.

He would find her.


	2. Before the Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary remembers the past and who she was before the zombie apocalypse. 
> 
> In the present, Clary internalizes her decision of leaving Jace and runs into a small boy and older girl robbing a group of elderly survivors who may complicate her previous choice.

 

 

_Before_

"Clary, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you," he had proclaimed, getting down on one knee. "Will you marry me?"

Clary tasted blood in her mouth as she attempted—and failed—to push the memory away. How could one moment define the rest of her life?

“No," she had breathed, mere hours ago. Looking back, she wasn't sure why she had declined. It had been a fairytale proposal. There had been a candlelit dinner, a string quartet, roses. He loved her. One look at him was enough to prove that.

But Clary had said no. It had all come at her so suddenly, she reminded herself. They had only been dating for six months. She was only a freshman in college. Clary wasn't ready for finals, let alone marriage. _I had panicked_ , she thought, but she didn't regret her choices. He had seemed so broken after her refusal. The waitress had paused in her deliverance of the champagne and Simon had never looked so… _numb_.

Did this mean they were broken up? Clary didn't know. She loved Simon. There was no denying that. But it wasn't right. No matter what, the entire evening she hadn't been able to ignore the stabbing feeling of wrongness chewing up her insides. She couldn't be sure what she wanted out of life yet, but somehow Clary knew it wasn't him. As terrible as it made her feel.

Clary looked around the apartment her and Simon shared with dread. He hadn't come back home yet. She had no idea when—if—he would, but she was itching to see him again. The anticipation and unknowing that surrounded his inevitable arrival was worse than the confrontation that would follow. She was sick of waiting; she was sick of running. She just wanted to see him again.

Waiting wasn't doing her any good.

Desperate to take the edge off of her growing anxiety, Clary made a beeline for the fridge. The case of beer that had always repulsed her now looked undeniably enticing. Without hesitation, she pulled out a can and drowned her nerves away. She had always held such an aversion to drinking—especially due to being underage—but that night, she relished in the numbness of feeling the amber liquid supplied her.

In between sips, she had reached for her phone. A piece of her felt disheartened there were no messages from him, but she quickly shook those thoughts aside. She had to see if anybody knew where he was before she got too tipsy. She just had to know he was okay. Otherwise, not even the alcohol would subside her guilt.

"Hello?" A dulled voice spoke on the other end of the receiver.

“Raphael?” Clary asked, even though she knew it was him. "It's me, Clary."

"Who?" His reply made her frown. Like most of her college, Simon’s friends ignored her existence. In the beginning, they had even tried to talk him out of dating the "weird girl". That had been a real self-confidence booster.

"Clary. Simon’s…girlfriend." She couldn't help but feel like a liar, even to herself. Was that still true? Had she gone from girlfriend to could-be-fiancee and demoted to the ex?

"Oh yeah. Uh…what's up?" Raphael sounded uncomfortable. Clary rolled her eyes, needing another swig of beer to get through a conversation with this asshole.

"I…uh, do you know where Simon is? It's important that I get in touch with him." She hated how pathetic she sounded. Like she was a needy, overprotective girlfriend forced to stay at home. Her distaste with herself wasn't as important as making sure he was okay. He had always been so gentle and sweet, but Simon was too sensitive for his own good. There was no telling what he was going through.

“Simon?” A loud crowd cheered on the other end of the line. Raphael was most likely at another party with the other low lives Clary refused to associate with. "Yeah, he swung by earlier. Yowza, what did you do to mess him up? I've never seen him so trashed."

Clary clenched her fists. Raphael really wasn't helping.

"Do you know where he is or not?" She growled, suddenly disappointed in the amber drink contaminating her brain cells. It obviously wasn't good enough if it couldn't get her through a conversation with Raphael without homicidal tendencies.

"Yeah, yeah. Actually, not really. He left Eric’s about an hour ago, absolutely wasted."

"Was he _driving_?" It was a struggle not to punch him through the phone. If Simon was as drunk as he said and he was driving…

Clary would never forgive herself.

"How am I supposed to know? When he left, Lily was all over me and—"

"Hey, Raphael, shut up,” Clary spat sharply, not needing to hear the details on how the asshole's sexual advances were more important than his best friend's life.

"Just..let me know if you hear anything,” she spoke softly.

"Right, sure. Hey, what's your name again?"

Feeling thoroughly repulsed, Clary slammed the phone down on the marble countertop. The apartment felt too big to be so empty. She had always felt so lucky to have moved into the spacious penthouse with a city view she could stare at for hours. It had been a major step up from the cramped dorm she had shared with her awful roommate, Seelie. Now, the apartment felt lonely. It’s added space only served as a reminder of how badly she had screwed up. She should have stayed and made sure Simon was okay. She should have talked to him and told him that she loved him, but just wasn't ready to marry him. She should have—

The thump on the door tore Clary from her rampant thoughts.

“Simon,” She breathed, rushing to open the door. She had never been so happy to hear him. There was another thump at the door, this time more insistent. _He must be seriously drunk_ , Clary thought to herself, twisting the doorknob.

“Simon?” The sight of him shocked her. In only a moment she took in his sickly appearance. His once coffee stain eyes were bloodshot with a yellowish pallor and a crazed absence. His normally alabaster skin tone had been reduced to a sickly green. He smelled as if he had been bathing in raw sewage and there was just something about the way his body was positioned—like a puppet lost without its master—that sent chills scraping down her spine. Unfortunately, the moment she paused to take in his appearance was a moment too long.

Simon uttered an inhuman growl, pouncing in a twisted clunky fashion as he desperately clawed at Clary.

“Simon, what are you—" Her words died the moment they slipped from her tongue and were instead replaced by her surprised scream. He collided into her cannibalistically, his eyes showing no traces of recognition as he scratched and snarled.

"Hey, stop!" She croaked, her eyes wide and afraid. Simon snapped at her neck, his teeth barely missing her skin. The weight of his body was crushing her small frame. She looked at him in horror, using all of her strength to push him away.

“Simon, get off me!" With one final push the pressure vanished from her chest and she quickly scrambled out from underneath him.

Unfazed, Simon moved to attack once more. Clary could see the bloodlust in his eyes. She could feel the hunger in his movements.

She had never been afraid of Simon before. All of the stories of abuse and rape happened to _other_ people. Now he just kept coming at her and he wouldn't stop. For the first time, Clary knew that if given the chance, Simon would _hurt_ her. Or worse.

He sprung at her predatorily, outstretching his arms to grab her like a meal. Without hesitation, she grabbed the nearest object—a chair—and swung at his head. There was a sickening crack. Simon fell to the floor in a motionless heap. Clary stumbled, dropping the chair in horror. She was stunned. It wasn't until now that she noticed the gaping wound on his left bicep. It looked like a bite from a wild animal.

“Simon…” She whispered, her voice as soft as air. His head rose sharply, his dead eyes looking to meet hers. In an instant, he was pulling himself up again, once more in ravenous pursuit and clawing at her legs. For a moment, she stopped. Why couldn't he just talk to her? Why was he doing this?

Tears began clouding her eyes. She needed to get out of there. She ran as fast as she could—despite being slowed down by her dress and heels—but he was quick on her toes.

“Simon, stop!" But he didn't. He wouldn't. He wasn't the Simon Clary had grown to love. No, this Simon was much different. She had her back towards him as she ran. Looking back, Clary would realize that had been a mistake.

A splitting pain burst through the nerves of her skull as he monstrously captured her hair, tearing her back to him. Tears were now streaming down her pale skin, washing inky tresses of mascara with it. He hovered over her, snarling and snapping his wicked jaw as he dove to tear into her neck. Out of self-preservation, she threw her arms up to push him away. The act caused a strain on her already shaking muscles. He just kept coming and Clary was growing tired. It felt as if they had been fighting for hours.

A trail of blood had begun to seep down her head, probably from the impact of her fall. This only seemed to make him attack her harder. She needed a plan. She needed to do something. She needed to get away from him.

“Simon, I love you,” She wailed, before calling on every ounce of strength she possessed to flip him from her shaking form. Before he could lunge for her again, she hurdled over the couch and slipped her hands beneath its underbelly. She flipped the heavy Italian leather couch before he could follow and watched it fall on top of his writhing form. There was no telling how long he would be pinned.

She didn't look back. Instead, she bolted for the door and shut it behind her. Only then did she allow herself to break down into tears.

* * *

 

"I'm going to kill that slimy bastard,” her brother Jonathan growled. She hadn't had anywhere else to go after the incident except for her brother's small townhouse. At first, he hadn't been too pleased to see his baby sister knocking on his door at one in the morning, but had quickly let her in after seeing her haggard appearance. She had immediately passed out on the couch without explanation. He had woken her up with a pancake buffet and an interrogation.

For the past hour, she had settled to being curled up on his couch while Jonathan paced, going back and forth on the various ways he would get revenge on the asshole that hurt his sister.

"I'm going to skin him alive, burn his bones, and then dance around a ceremonial fire so that I can resurrect him and kill him all over again,” he decided confidently, only seeming to get angrier with each step.

"Jonathan, stop,” Clary ordered quietly, hugging herself to forget the previous night. She doubted that was possible.

He spun towards her incredulously.

"Clary, he _attacked_ you. The rich momma’s boy has always rubbed me the wrong way, but he tried to _hurt_ you. There's no way this guy is just going to get away with hurting my baby sis."

On any other day, she would've smiled at his protectiveness. But in the course of a day her boyfriend proposed, took off after she rejected said proposal, and attacked her in a rage. Oprah just didn't prepare a girl for this stuff. She was still wearing the silk blue dress she had worn for their date, back when things were still normal. It was tattered now. The hair she had uncharacteristically spent time on had been smeared with her own blood. In short, she was a mess. Both inside and out.

"Revenge isn't going to help. He's dangerous, Jon. I already called the cops to come and arrest him,” she tried to reason, wanting him to just drop the subject. Jonathan's face fell as he looked at Clary, no doubt seeing her as weak and as helpless as she felt.

"Can't I just stab him a little bit?" He pouted. Clary rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him, which he dodged with a slight grin. At least after the crap day she had endured, she could always rely on her brother for a sense of normalcy.

Jonathan 's smile faltered as he took in her appearance somberly.

"You look like shit,” he observed, rather bluntly. Clary raised an eyebrow indignantly, prepared to throw another pillow at him.

Realizing his mistake, Jonathan put his hands up in defense, "Whoa, whoa. You know that's not what I meant."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say asshole,” she muttered, the barest hint of a smirk on her face. He put a hand over his heart in mock pain.

"Ouch Clare, that hurts. I was just going to suggest you go change. Tessa's got some clothes and whatever girls need that I'm sure she wouldn't mind you borrowing."

Tessa was Jonathan's girlfriend of three years. He had fallen head over heels in love with her in college and had been absolutely lovestruck in her presence ever since. She was the most independent person Clary had ever met, which was why Tessa refused to move in with Jonathan. Officially, at least. She still practically lived there, somehow able to withstand longterm exposure to her brother. Clary's family had always been so sure she would follow in their footsteps with Simon. For some reason, she felt as if she had disappointed them.

"Clary? Earth to Clare?"

"Huh?"

She was snapped back to reality and greeted with the sight of Jonathan's palm obnoxiously waving in front of her face.

"Uh yeah, sure. That sounds great,” she mumbled, robotically rising from the security of the couch and going to his room. Clary was no stranger to Jonathan's house. He had graduated from college two years beforehand and worked hard to get a job and rent a house until he could buy one for himself. That was one of the reasons he had never liked Simon. Her boyfriend came from a well-respected family that handed him everything that he could ever wish for. With that came pressure for Clary to act prim and proper in front of his family. She had always come to Jonathan's to blow off steam. Just…not like this.

Shaking away her thoughts, Clary sighed and tore through Tessa's half (more like two thirds) of the dresser to search for something to change into. She settled for a long sleeved baby blue top paired with a comfy pair of jean shorts. Tessa had been going through a pink phase, so the redhead doubted she would miss them.

Clary took her time changing. Her body felt sore and stiff and her bruises ached. By the time she had changed, washed her face clear of any makeup and brushed her hair, she had been gone for half an hour. Knowing Jonathan, in that time he had either managed to bake a gourmet soufflé or blow something up.

To her delight, it was the former.

"You've outdone yourself, Jon,” she murmured in between bites of the chocolate soufflé.

"Always a pleasure to share my gifts with the world," he grinned cockily, leaning against the counter. "So I'm thinking after you inhale the chocolate in that bowl the two of us should have an epic Mario Kart showdown."

"Oh you're so on,” she grinned, about ninety percent sure chocolate stained her teeth in unattractive lumps. Clary wasn't an idiot; she knew what he was doing. He was trying to distract her, but she didn't care. She had missed hanging out with her brother and just feeling carefree.

But that didn't happen this time.

Even while savoring her chocolate cloud of heaven, winning in Mario Kart, and laughing as Jonathan rolled on the ground in humiliation, she couldn't help but think about the events of the previous night. Simon had looked so…unlike himself. She had just assumed he was drunk. As if being drunk could _ever_ be an excuse for what he did. No, just because it was the first time _she_ ever drank didn't mean she had never seen anyone drunk before. Simon would drag Clary into college bars all the time where she would witness Raphael’s antics, which were deplorable, but nothing like the events of the night before.

Something had been off with him.

She voiced her concerns to Jonathan, but his response had been lackluster.

"It's obvious," he shrugged while pounding on the buttons of his controller. "Your boyfriend is a zombie."

“Haha," she responded dryly. Sighing, Jonathan paused the game and returned his focus to her. Clary had always been impressed with his ability to morph between the hyperactive goofball and the sensitive, caring older brother.

"Listen, Clary, guys like Simon are used to getting everything they want. You rejected him and he showed his true colors. Let's just be glad that he didn't get away with it,” he explained as if it were that simple. But he hadn't been there. It wasn't the typical abuse story where a guy hits a girl or vice versa. No, his actions had been nothing short of animalistic. She had looked into his eyes and what she saw was  _not_ Simon.

"Jon, it wasn't like that. It was almost like he was trying to…I dunno… _eat me_ or something sick like that. He just didn't look like himself. His skin was this ghastly shade of yellow, his clothes were a mess, there was this bloody wound on the back of his arm, and his eyes were like these dead orbs just rolling around in his skull! I'm telling you it wasn't natural."

There was a pause as he took in her description.

"You do know I was kidding about the zombie thing, right?"

Clary frowned at him. How the hell was she supposed to share her frustration when her own brother was making fun of her?

"How's your head?" He finally asked, concern written across his face. She leaned away from him and subconsciously grazed the back of her scalp. It had been bleeding pretty badly when she arrived at Jonathan's the night before.

"I'm not crazy,” she muttered darkly.

"I'm not saying you are. I'm asking how your head is after sustaining a head wound and also engaging in underage drinking like a no good hooligan,” he raised his hands in a sign of peace. She was too tired to glare at him.

"Fine, I guess. I just hope I bled all over that asshole's fancy carpet."

Jonathan snorted, twirling the cord of his Xbox controller absentmindedly. It was a nice visual after such a harsh twenty-four hours. Somehow Jonathan's presence had a way of making her feel her most comfortable. It was something she missed after he left for college.

"If I had anything to do with it that dick would have a lot more than a stained carpet,” he spat, tensing up at the very idea of Simon.

"It's a really nice carpet,” Clary appealed. Her remark did nothing to curb his bloodlust. She sighed, knowing she would have to do something to control her brother.

"Hey, listen, why don't you put in a game you actually have a chance at _winning_ and I'll get some coffee." She gave him a small smile as she stood up, only making it three steps before the window to her left exploded. The scream of a woman was quick to follow.

"What was—"

The droning of a rogue fire alarm cut off Jonathan 's question. Clary flew to the window, craning her neck to view the source of the chaos.

"Do you see anything?" Her brother asked, peering behind her. A few people had begun to crowd the streets. Some had even begun to run. Aside from a shadow or two from behind the curtain of the house perpendicular to her, Clary saw nothing.

"No, but you should probably call the cops. Just in…"

The words faded from her lips as she spun to see Jonathan holding an open phone.

"The line's dead.”

_Oh_ , she thought. _So much for that plan._

They stood rooted in the thick silence that seemed impossible to break. Until it wasn't.

There was a heavy thumping at the door. Clary swallowed tightly, sure she had heard a similar sound only a day ago.

"I don't suppose that could be our friendly neighborhood grandma coming to ask for sugar?" The snowy blond deadpanned, drifting to the locked door. Clary's chest constricted. She was unable to escape the feeling of dread that had descended upon her.

"It's Simon." She didn't know how she was so positive. Jonathan's pace to the door quickened. He looked out the peephole, radiating in wave after wave of fury at the thought of Simon being there.

"Shit, you're right. Wow you weren't kidding, he looks like crap,” Jonathan remarked, finding some dark humor in the deterioration of the man who hurt his little sister.

"Yup," She spoke, popping the _p._ "Wait, you aren't seriously going to let him in, are you?"

He ignored her bewildered gasp.

"Calm down Clare, your big bro's got this covered. I'm just going to make sure this douche doesn't try anything again." He waved her off and twisted open the door.

"Listen here Si—“

Simon descended upon her brother immediately, snapping his jaws with the aim to devour and destroy. Ice burned though Clary's blood. She was unable to contain the horrified scream that burst from her raw throat.

"What the _fu—_ "

Jonathan roared in pain, a sound so guttural and emotive that Clary could've sworn she felt the pain herself. Crimson flashed in the outskirts of her vision. Without a thought, her palm enclosed around the cool circular handle of her brother's carving knife and she flew to his rescue.

Clary's stomach plummeted as the attack assaulted her visuals. She knew she would never be able to forget what lay in front of her. The smell, the sight, the terror, the gore; all of it would be permanently burned into her memories. Jonathan choked, using all of his strength to keep the monster that was Simon at bay. His arm was gushing blood. Chunks of raw flesh and tissue were stuck in the open mouth of the growling monster across from her.

He was _eating_ him.

The thought alone would've made her hurl if not for the dire situation at hand.

"Simon," she spoke, but her words came too late. The knife she gripped in her sweaty palm felt powerful as she swung and arced the steel tip into her ex-boyfriend's skull. He dropped, falling away from Jonathan to drop to the wooden floor with a heavy _thump_.

She choked, unable to breathe, let alone scream. Horror burst from her breaking heart and imploding lungs. Gravity had dominated over her weak knees, sending her sprawling to the ground unceremoniously. She just stared at the body lying inches from her own. From the still open door, Clary had an unobstructed view into the street, where beings that suspiciously resembled Simon trekked by in ever-increasing numbers. The sound of her screaming caught their attention. Though she was still unable to feel breath in her gasping lungs, Clary kicked the door shut. To her left, Jonathan stared at his still bleeding wound in shock. He was looking worryingly pale.

"Jonathan ?" Her voice shook with emotion. She still felt tremors from the knife's impact in her shaking hand. The _squelching_ sound the blade had emitted as it entered his skull would haunt her nightmares until she died.

She was a murderer. She had acted out of self-defense. Her brother's life had been at stake. She chose one life over another.

_Murderer._

“Clare,” he gazed up at her, his green eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"Simon. He was a—"

"He was a psychopath. He—he wouldn't have stopped,” she would tell herself that mantra to live with herself. His blood stained her hands. Jonathan shook his head. His movements were slow as if treading water.

"He—he bit me." The shock in his voice echoed across the room, across her mind.

"We'll get you patched up. There's a hospital a couple miles from here. I can call Tessa and fill her in,” she spoke as if she were trying to convince herself.

"I can't believe it. The bastard was _actually_ a zombie. He was a zombie and he bit—"

"No!" Clary interrupted her brother sharply. "No. No, no, no. There are no such things as zombies! If anything, he must have taken some kind of bath salts at the party.”

Jonathan looked unsure. There were more screams coming from outside. Clary bit her lip.

"You're going to be fine, Jon. I promise. We just need to get out of here."

He nodded. She wasn't sure if he believed her, but he trusted her.

Everything would be fine.

* * *

 

_Now_

Clarissa Fray had no doubt in her mind she was headed for hell. She had done whatever it took to survive. Stuff that made her glad her brother wasn't around to see what she had become. Adapting to the new world had been hard at first. It had gotten easier with time as her morals could be described only in various shades of grey. Now, it was second nature.

So why was it, as she tore through the forest, that she had begun to feel _guilty_? It was an emotion she hadn't expressed in a long time. Perhaps because the only people she had associated with as of late had been dead and trying to eat her.

Jace’s infuriatingly optimistic personality had been refreshing. Naive, but refreshing nonetheless. She had to admit that her time spent with him had been among the few fond memories she had collected since the apocalypse's beginning. There was just no way she could have stayed. It would be complicated and painful. He was different than most survivors. That made him dangerous. Or worse, living on borrowed time. She had liked him. In a post-apocalyptic world, that was just something she couldn't afford.

So she ran. She continued to run even as twigs snapped against her skin and thorns tugged at her hair. The only sound in the world was the rough padding of her feet against the moist earth.

That was the world she knew. You fight and you survive and then you die. She had been lucky so far. Sometimes it became hard to remember the zombies she fought had been just like her once. What had been their downfall? Were they not strong enough? Were they not smart enough? Could it really be determined as anything other than having a bad day? Clary refused to find out. She kept running, knowing the roaring in her lungs and the burning in her legs was a sign she was still alive.

"Please, my brother is sick. We just need the medicine!"

Clary paused, her eyes growing wide at the sound of another voice. It was young and desperate—possibly belonging to a child. Her mind was calculating the possibilities with the precision of a machine. If need be, she could easily overpower the child. Clary’s presence went unnoticed as she slowly shifted closer.

_Sloppy_ , Clary noted, moving into a crouching position behind a bush. From her perch, she could see a boy maybe around ten. He was standing opposite from a group of the oldest people Clary had come across since zombies started eating people. It was a strange sort of juxtaposition, she realized, watching the youngest and the oldest in a Westside Story-esque face off. Most children and elderly were dead.

"I don't know, Hodge. After what we went through to get this stuff…after what happened to Jem?” The woman spoke in what Clary assumed was supposed to be a hushed voice to the man on her right. He gazed at the little girl from behind his cracked glasses.

"Please. He's really sick,” he accentuated, big blue eyes sparkling. He was surprisingly clean.

"Is he bit?" The man on the left asked sharply. He was the closest to the little boy in height, due to his hunched back. He shook his head quickly, sending his glasses to fall askew upon his nose..

"Well—" The leaves shifted to Clary's left. Her hand immediately clutched the spot in her boot where she kept Mr. Pointy but grasped air. She cursed under her breath, remembering she had left her stake behind at Jace’s camp. As if it were a consolation for her leaving and stealing his stuff.

A zombie pinned beneath a log had spotted her. She exhaled in relief. She could handle a trapped zombie without her weapon of choice easily. Its arms stretched out pathetically, clawing at thin air. Clary rolled her eyes. Some zombies were just so _dumb_.

Before the group could move to investigate the noise, she cautiously shifted her weight towards the flailing zombie. She had picked up a good sized rock from the forest floor and now gripped it tightly. When she was a safe distance away, Clary quickly swung the blunt force down into the zombie's soft skull. Three times, for good measure. It would have been quicker with Mr. Pointy, but the rock got its job done. The squelching of the brain as it burst and popped its juices over her hands was something Clary would never get used to. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The smell positively sucked.

“He's sick. I already lost my parents. I can't lose him too!" The boy sobbed, holding his face in his hands. Clary's attention had turned back to the scene before her.

“He’s just a little boy,” the elderly woman had once again turned to the man beside her. Clary noticed the boy’s attention was beyond the group. Unnoticed by the trio, a girl around Clary’s age slipped into the clearing. Her eyes were trained on the trio's supplies which resided on the ground behind them.

"Holy shit," Clary breathed. She now understood what was happening. Despite her best intuition, she found herself jumping to her feet. All eyes—and weapons—were on her. The girl froze.

"They're robbing you. Just thought you should know. His perfectly healthy sister is about to grab your supplies."

The little boy gaped and the girl let out a squeak as the trio rounded on them. Clary couldn't explain why she felt the need to prevent a robbery after just committing one herself. She liked to think that maybe even after everything she did, there was a conscious that throbbed inside of her, however weakly. Even in the zombie apocalypse. there was no excuse to rob a trio of old people.

"What did you do?" The girl screeched at Clary. The boy accompanying her had taken off into the woods. Clary shrugged, choosing to walk away with her own (stolen) supplies in hand. She had dealt with too many humans in one day. Her social skills (which sucked to begin with) were embarrassingly subpar.

It wasn't any of her business what happened to the two. All she could do was what she had done so far. Keep on walking and focusing on how to survive the next day. If she did that she could—

Suddenly she was flying. And screaming. A little bit of both as the security of the forest floor vanished. Her surroundings were closing in on themselves. Tighter and tighter.

Clary felt her chest constrict as she struggled to find security. She was enclosed in a bag—no, a net—about ten feet above the ground. In her surprise, her supplies had fallen to the ground beneath her.

She was stuck.

"Shit!" She screeched, pounding her fists into the ropes that contained her. Her palms shook the enclosure furiously.

"Thank you, dear. Without your help we'd be in a very tough spot,” the voice of the elderly woman caught Clary's attention. How long had the trio been standing there?

"Uh, yeah. Don't mention it," Clary replied shakily, "Wait, actually I take that back. Do mention it. Is there any way you can let me down from this trap? The little con artists must have set it up."

"Oh, no. That's our trap,” The stout man spoke proudly, puffing his chest out.

"That's great! That means you can get me down!" Clary enthused. Maybe her day was about to start looking up after all. The trio glanced at one another in a conspiratory manner.

"Actually, we can't. Sorry sweetheart, but I think we're just going to take your stuff,” the woman apologized. Her two cohorts had begun to gather her belongings. Clary's jaw dropped.

"But I saved you!" She insisted, fighting even harder against her restraints.

"Oh and we really appreciate that. Really, we do. But it's a tough world out there. We just have to do what we can to survive. You understand, don't you?"

Boy, did she ever. But the damn geezer didn't have to sound so patronizing.

"No! Get your dirty wrinkles off my stuff you hag!" Clary threw her body weight violently against the net. The old bitch looked offended. The three cast her a dirty look before leaving. At the last moment, the stout man took out a case of something and poured it over the grass. Clary couldn't get a good look at it, but judging by the rotten toad's dirty expression, it wasn't very nice.

No. Freaking. Way.

No longer did she care that she was in a zombie infested wasteland. She began to scream. Boy, did she scream. Screamed and punched and clawed and…

The sound of laughter echoed into Clary's eardrums.

_Great_ , she mused bitterly, _more people_. And not just any people.

"Well, well, well, you're very _high_ and mighty these days, aren't you?" Taunted the young boy. Clary groaned. Little kid taunting was bad. Little kid humor was worse.

"They stole our stuff too you know," the girl pointed out haughtily, one hand placed upon the curve of her hip. "We were trying to get back what was ours. That is until _someone_ messed it up."

"Look, I'm sorry," Clary sighed. "I really am. I thought I was helping. I know you two probably hate me, but it's going to be dark soon; I need to get down from here pronto. Any chance you could help me out?"

She looked to the two desperately. They glanced back and forth at one another, seeming to communicate mentally. After a long pause, the girl nodded.

"The trap is too high for us," she gestured to herself and her brother, "but we saw another campfire nearby. We'll go get them and come back for you."

It was like irony was kicking her butt today. She knew what camp they were talking about. She couldn't imagine what Jace would do to her once he found her.

"Wait, no!" She cried, but the two had already run off. She hadn't felt so helpless in a long time. The only thing that could make her day worse was—

A low groaning noise came from below her. Then another followed by many others. Zombies. Lots and lots of zombies.

Well, shit.


	3. The Girl in the Net

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jace is found by two siblings, Max and Isabelle, who bring him to Clary. The three make a plan to battle the zombies to save her life. Clary is displeased at becoming a damsel in distress and would very much like to be written out of this narrative.

 

 

Jace hadn't always traveled alone. The world was already dying. It didn't seem to make sense to seclude himself from what was left of it. From the very beginning of the apocalypse, he had found himself jumping from group to group. Most groups from the beginning, back when people had hope that someone was coming to save them, hadn't lasted very long. There was one group he had been apart of that he had stayed with the longest. It was large—almost like a community of people. It had made it easy to pretend the world was the same. It hadn't taken him long to become attached, but he hadn't been able to stay. Not after what had happened.

Since his departure, he had managed to last on his own. It was lonely and quiet, but it was safer than he had been. He had even managed to stay camped in more or less the same place without being found. Then he met Clary.

She was human, that was for sure. Maybe a little too human. Her numerous flaws reeked of humanity. Yet, she acted so familiarly. That had intrigued him, amongst other things.

 _"How do you know I won't leave?"_ She had asked. He could tell she had been alone much longer than he had. She possessed all the telltale signs.

 _"You won’t.”_ He had been so sure of himself. " _You may have survived this world by closing yourself off, but I've found the only way to survive is to never stop believing in a person's humanity. The day I refuse to trust will be the day they win."_

He had been so sure he had gotten through to her. But she had left.

He would find her. Jace was sure of it as he skillfully packed up what was left of his camp. He would find her, he would get back his supplies, and then…

Jace wasn't too sure what he planned to do next. Keep running? Keep hiding? Living in a zombie apocalypse hadn't left him too many options when it came to recreational enjoyment. Especially not when his life was always at risk. Finding Clary wouldn't have been as big of a deal if she hadn't shown up, acting so damn familiar, and then stolen the only thing that had kept him safe from those out for his blood.

There was no question about it. Her stake—Mr. Pointy—burned his palm as he set off in his trek through the woods. If he didn't find her, they would find him. He wasn't prepared to allow the first human he had encountered since he had been on his own darken his own reflection on what was left of humanity. Especially not when she'd acted so much like _her_. This was his second chance. He wasn't going to mess it up.

But before he could do anything, he would have to find her through the vast forest crawling with lame brains. Which brought him to the present, as he ducked under overlong branches and quietly stomped across bloodstained leaves. He had been walking for what felt like hours and while he had come across the tracks of wandering lame brains, there were none to be found. _Strange_ , he thought, _where could they all have gathered to_? Especially when it would be dark soon.

"Hey! Hey you!" A tinny voice, childish in pitch, distracted him from his ponderings. He looked up to see a boy and a girl, both similar in appearance, rushing towards him. He observed the two with brazen curiosity, paying particular attention to the small boy. It was rare to see kids anymore. At least, the living ones.

"Please," the boy with messy black hair panted. "We need your help."

Jace rose an eyebrow in question. The girl, who Jace noted was strangely wearing heels, stepped in for her brother.

"There's a girl—kinda annoying—that's trapped in a net. We can’t get her down and it's going to be dark soon. We told her we would get help."

Jace was now highly intrigued. How many girls were there to be found in these parts of the woods? Could it be that he had found her?

"By the way, you wouldn't happen to have any medicine, would you?" Jace blinked at the girl's insistent question as she stared up at him with big, brown, hopeful eyes. Slowly, he shook his head in response.

"Not anymore. It was packed with some supplies a girl stole from me that I'm trying to get back,” he answered with the barest hint of a determined smile upon his lips. The girl jumped into action, tugging his hand along through the dense forest. The boy staggered behind, moving slower than his much more enthusiastic sister.

"I'm Isabelle, by the way," she chimed proudly. "That's Max. It's been just the two of us for about a week now."

Jace had enough sense to not ask what had happened to make them alone. In a world where the mortality rate was at an all-time high, the past brought pain to everyone.

Suddenly, Jace heard a low growl carrying through the trees. He put a hand on the girl—Isabelle’s— shoulder and drew her back. The moaning continued, magnifying with each breath.

"So this is where they're all going," Jace spoke in a hush. "We're going to have to go a different way to get around that clearing. They all seem to be circling that area, which will give us an opportunity to get her down in time."

"But—"

Max didn't have to finish. Over the sounds of moaning came the equally distinct cursing and brash yelling that belonged to a human. Clary.

Finding her had just become infinitely more complicated. No longer was it a matter of getting her down. Somehow they would need to face off against a horde of zombies and get her down with only a gun and a stake in terms of weapons.

Was one girl worth it? One girl, that had done nothing but steal his supplies? Most survivors of the apocalypse would have allowed her a cruel death for her actions. But that was just it, wasn't it? Most survivors acted out of survival over morality. Jace would rather die than become a survivor that could only be told apart from the lame brains by the beat of his pulse. He would save her, he would get his stuff back, and he would never let her live this down. But first…

"We need a plan,” he murmured, still unsure about allowing a kid that couldn't be above the age of ten and a girl who looked like she had walked out of a Prada store into a battle with a horde of lame brains. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like he had many other options.

"Like what? Don't get eaten?" Max muttered, nervously scratching his shoulder. Jace rolled his eyes and slowly inched closer to the clearing. There must have been around twenty lame brains and with all the noise they were causing there was bound to be more. Jace pulled out his gun.

"Find some weapons. Rocks, remnants, anything that's sharp and hard enough to penetrate the skull. Our best bet is to get the herd to disperse. Once you two find weapons we're going to form a triangle around the clearing and make enough noise to grab their attention. Then we pick them off. Sound good?"

The two nodded fiercely and scoured the earth floor. Jace moved behind a section of trees that gave him a good view of the clearing and the siblings. Clary was thrashing around in a makeshift net about ten feet off the ground shooting off a storm of nasty expletives. Lame brains were in a massive heap below, attempting to claw at her.

He sighed, silently wondering what he had gotten himself into as he shot his gun into the air. It let out a loud _bang_ , drawing the attention of both the lame brains and Clary. Her eyes landed on him in horror, leaving her lips parted in a gaping _o_. He merely smirked at her and turned to face the crowd now shifting towards him. From her position, Isabelle screamed with a grin upon her delicate face. Some lame brains turned while others continued to progress towards Jace. He steeled himself, gun in hand. Max hollered at the top of his lungs, thinning out the lame brains more so. Some remained underneath Clary.

Making sure there was enough empty space behind him in case he needed to retreat, Jace narrowed his eyes and quickly shot the front line in the heads. As they came closer, Jace continued to shoot without hesitation. It was a normal repetition he had forced himself to become accustomed to.

Breathe in, breathe out, aim, pull the trigger, repeat, live. A break in the pattern meant death. That wasn't an option. Not yet.

The growling was growing louder. From the corner of his eye, he could see more lame brains from the outskirts of the woods swarming to the clearing. With every corpse he killed, three more appeared from the woods.

 _Bang_. The last lame brain's blood splattered across his face. For just a moment, he turned his back on the clearing to observe the approaching dead.

That was when he heard the scream. Jace spun around quickly just in time to see the hungry lame brains managing to reach the bottom of the net holding Clary in safety. The combined weight tore the bottom, sending Clary falling into the hungry crowd.

"No," Jace breathed. A new pressure clawing into him held him from rushing to her aid. Without struggle, Jace threw the lame brain off of his back and shot it in the head before it could stagger towards him once more. The decomposing body thumped to the ground in a bloodied heap, giving Jace an opening to enter the clearing.

The herd blocked Jace from his line of vision. He heard another scream. All his anger toward the girl dissipated in the heat of battle. Now all he felt was raw fear. Could it be already too late? Could she already be a meal? Or worse?

Jace pulled out his gun and began taking out the crowd. There were maybe ten lame brains clawing for Clary. It was a large number for anyone to take on alone and survive. Was Clary enough? He hadn't heard her voice in a while. Jace continued to shoot, lowering the number. 8…7…6…5…

There she was. The crowd had thinned enough that Jace was able to see a very pissed off redhead kicking away a rather persistent lame brain. Her gaze fell upon Jace.

"Well are you gonna stand there or are you gonna—"

He shot the undead attacking her before she could finish. Jace smirked and she let out a huff before rolling out of the crowd and managing to get to her feet. She faced the remaining lame brains with a stony glare, despite having no weapon in hand.

"Catch." From his belt loop, he pulled out Clary's stake, Mr. Pointy, and tossed it to her. She caught it gracefully with the barest hint of a grin on her face. The two zombies rushing towards her were disposed of with a quick jab. Gun in hand, Jace shot the last three with ease.

"Fancy shooting you got there," she muttered. The zombies in the clearing had been taken care of, leaving the two panting side by side. They awaited the incoming lame brains.

"Just giving you more of an excuse to check me out, I suppose,” he replied smarmily. She rolled her eyes and stabbed an incoming lame brain. They didn’t have time to wince at the _squelching_ sound it created, instead facing off against two more.

"Why are there so many?" He shouted to her above the noise of the angry lurkers and gunshots. She took a moment to answer, due to being in the middle of stabbing a lame brain with a strong arcing movement.

"The damn old bastards that trapped me in that net. Before leaving one of them poured something on the ground so they had more time to get away. It was probably blood,” Clary growled. Now Jace could see the large crimson stain matting the earth. Whoever it was that the redhead had run into, they were smart. Every survivor knew that lame brains were attracted to the smell of blood. Some were even able to track humans for miles if they smelt or tasted enough of a person's blood. Just one of the many dangers the apocalypse had brought them.

"On your left," Clary called. Jace had the time to duck the outstretched arms of a biter and shoot it in the head. Out of the corner of his eye, he checked on the siblings. Both seemed to be holding their own. To his right, Clary yelled out in pain. His heartbeat quickened and he turned. Clary had been fighting well until a lame brain had grabbed her by her tresses of hair. It pulled her closer roughly, suddenly inches away from tearing into her. He raised his gun to shoot but was met with a hollow _click_. Out of ammo.

"Dammit," he hissed. In the future, when he would look back on that moment, he would remember it had happened too fast for him to truly take in the situation. He would remember the way his heart plummeted, but not how quickly the lame brain struck. He would always remember the fear in the girl's grass green eyes as they glistened with tears. He would never know what she was thinking of or who she was apologizing to, as all survivors did when they were seconds away from dying.

But where Jace stood, with an empty gun in his hand, the future was a long way away. Adrenaline pumped through his heart and blood poured into his muscles as he lunged for the lame brain holding Clary mere centimeters away. He slammed its back into a nearby tree. The glassy lifeless orbs of the corpse were now trained on him. It struggled viciously to tear into the arm Jace was using to restrain it. He tightened his grip on the barrel of the handgun he possessed before swinging the butt of it into the lame brain’s temple. It’s decomposing skull sunk inwards with a resounding _crack_. Blood and other slimy juices squirted out, dripping down the length of Jace's arm. The lame brain stopped struggling for a moment before resisting weakly once more. Jace bashed its head in again, clenching his jaw.

He felt guilt. He felt like he should be the one getting his head bashed in. He felt pity for the man that had been just like him before the sickness spread. Whoever it was that was pinned before him had just had one bad day. That was all it took. He felt no pity for the monster it had become. He just longed for the world where killing wasn't a means of survival.

Too bad that world was gone.

There was a voice behind him calling his name. Somberly, he dropped the empty gun stained with blood to the earth and took a step backward. He registered a close growling behind him when it was too late. Jace could smell the rotting flesh of a lame brain two inches away from him. He turned around just in time to see Clary, looking strong and determined, as she thrust her stake into the soft skull of the biter that had just been about to rip his throat out. She grimaced at the droplets of blood that splattered onto her face. Jace thought he had never seen someone look so good covered in blood and dirt. He rose an eyebrow coupled with a smirk.

"Ever notice that we make a good team?"

"We nearly died,” she challenged with her arms crossed and an attitude that penetrated him with more force than the stake she held so fondly.

"Yeah, thanks for that by the way, little miss damsel." She shot him a fierce glare. The wave of zombies seemed to have subsided.

"I don't damsel,” she protested.

"Was that before or after I found you hanging trapped in a net with a herd of lame brains waiting to _eat_ you?"

She huffed, clearly unamused.

"C'mon Clary, don't deny that we worked pretty well with each other.” He was buzzing with adrenaline.

"Fine, Jace. Thank you so _very much_ for not allowing me to die a grisly death. Happy?" She seemed more annoyed with herself than with him. He could imagine why. The girl that saw everything in terms of survival would have died had she been left to fend for her own.

"We did it!" A cheer rang out from the other end of the clearing. Jace looked away to see the siblings running toward him excitedly. Dead bodies—the dead dead kind—were scattered along the earth. The smell was terrible, but it was a better alternative than lying with them. Before he could stop himself, Jace wondered how many had died so far in the apocalypse. Thousands? Millions?…Billions?

Despite the wave of sadness that had descended upon him, he faked a smile to the awaiting siblings and high fived Max. He couldn't allow himself to feel so much sorrow for the dead that he forgot about the living.

"Did you see us?" Max crowed. "We were epic! They just kept coming and I was like 'pachow in your face barf breath! Die.'"

Isabelle giggled at her little brother's animated reenactment and Jace found himself with a small smile upon his face. He barely knew them, but the two were growing on him.

A streak of movement caught his eye. In the midst of celebration, Clary had used the opportunity to begin her escape. Jace couldn't help but feel anger toward the girl who had only come into his life two days beforehand. No, she wasn't going to leave again. Not yet. He wasn't done with her yet.

His hand shot out and encircled her arm. She jumped in shock.

"So Clary," he spoke smugly from behind her. "Let's talk."

He told her he would find her.

 


End file.
